


the life-spark that keeps you warm

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Body Modification, Consentacles, Crying, Eggpreg, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oviposition, Past Abuse, Sounding, Tentacles, Threesome - F/M/M, eldrich grace and harold, john is a figurative unicorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: John found them through a newspaper ad. The text was fairly simple - couple seeking third - but the invisible sigil wrought into the ad shone out into John's attention.





	the life-spark that keeps you warm

They give him a nice dinner, first, which is better than how John has ever been treated by - this class of being.

He doesn't know what they're called, and when he asks....

"I'm Harold," says the one who seems like a middle-aged man, "and this is Grace." She looks to be between John's age and the one Harold affects. "We have no allegiance to... your former associates." The words drip with distaste. "If that's what you're concerned about."

John shrugs. "Just not sure what to call you." It got him in trouble, before, when he called the Younger Ones or the Elder Ones anything but their chosen titles. 

"By our names," Harold says firmly.

John found them through a newspaper ad. The text was fairly simple - couple seeking third - but the invisible sigil wrought into the ad shone out into John's attention.

It was peculiar. He'd seen this type of sigil before, but never one quite like it. It compelled him, sure enough, but it was a gentle, welcoming sensation. It made promises that sent tingles down John's spine.

That ought to have made him wary.

"Why did you even add the sigil?" he asks, abruptly, pushing his plate away. The sigil wasn't enough to force him to come, but it was strong enough that most humans would subconsciously turn away from it without even noticing it.

Harold spread his hands. "We didn't want anyone to come to us unprepared."

John narrows his eyes. "Why these forms, then?" Nobody who knew enough to see the sigil would be scared off by their real forms. "Why the dinner, why all of this?"

"It's to make us seem, well, more palatable," Grace says, self-deprecating. "And help you with potential anxiety about the changes involved."

John gives her a slow smile. "Who says I'm going to need it?"

Grace laughs and pats his hand. "I appreciate you saying that." Then her face turns solemn. "But you're really, really going to."

She also insists that John sit down on the couch, though she doesn't press her offer of anything hot to drink when John declines. "How do you want me?" he asks.

They sit on either side of him. They're good at human forms: even the way they smell is right, her of hair product and some underlying sweetness, him of books with a faint hint of good cologne. He tries not to think of how powerful they must be. They feel warm, a human warmth that John hasn't had in a long time, and then in fragmented bits and pieces.

"You're tense," Grace says. "Is there anything we can do?"

John considers. But part of the reason he came here at all was that he knew he could be honest, for once, and he would be understood. "I used to be-- to help out with training the Younger Ones," he says. "If they could look human enough to fool me, they got permission to go out into humanity." He chuckles. "You guys are so good, I'm starting to wonder."

Grace inhales sharply. Harold says, slowly, "I assume they were not very kind to you if you did find them out."

"No," John says. "They weren't."

The finding out, too, sometimes wasn't particularly enjoyable. John learned that neither refusing nor accepting propositions from strangers was safe: if he refused, the Elder Ones might punish him for interfering in their tests. If he said yes - the Younger Ones often made mistakes, especially in areas like texture and taste. Skin that suddenly felt like razor blades, tongues that literally burned--

John had learned to step cautiously.

"I suppose we might as well begin now," Harold says softly. "You'll only worry more the more we wait, won't you?" John nods jerkily. "Grace, would you?"

There's a sort of - not movement in the corner of John's eye, but feeling like there ought to have been such movement, and then there's a tentacle with a very sharp sting on its end.

"Perhaps you'd like to take your clothes off first," Harold says.

John intends to, but then his clothes are - off, folded on the couch, and John is bare, all in the blink of an eye. He raises his eyebrows at Harold, impressed despite himself. Harold hasn't confused skin for clothing even a little bit.

"Close your eyes," Grace says.

John does. He braces himself for the sting. He feels the weight of her tentacle, then something hard and smooth against the inside of his thigh, and a spreading warmth from that contact.

"Oh," John says, surprised. "That was thoughtful. I'm ready now." Nobody's ever bothered anesthetizing him before stinging him before.

"You will be soon," Grace says, voice all rich with approval, and John can't help but melt a bit.

The warmth spreads through him until John feels all languid. He slides slowly from the couch to his knees, vaguely aware he's being helped to the ground.

That's good, he thinks. Hitting the floor wouldn't have been so bad, especially not when he's feeling all nice and floaty, but it's better like this.

From the waist up Grace and Harold look much the same as they did before: his new vantage point gives him a better view of them from the waist down, though. Here it's like a forest, a jungle, multicolored vines everywhere his eyes can see, tangling around one another, around his arms and his legs.

One of the vines - the tentacles - slips in his mouth. It's as wide as a finger and sweet. John sucks on it, unthinking, feeling the rhythm of suction in the way his cock throbs. Every pull of his mouth gives him more sweetness, intensifies the way he feels lit up and glowing.

Tentacles run over his skin in whisper-like caresses. John closes his eyes and leans into their touch. He feels like he's floating... no, he _is_ floating, the tentacles wrapped securely around him, taking his weight.

There's something like a tongue against his nipple. John opens his eyes and sees Grace's mouth bent to his chest. She breaks away to smile at him, then moves closer and bites down, setting a current of feeling through John's spine to his cock.

For now, John's cock is untouched, rising free and obscene, dripping already. Grace rubs a finger under the head like she's petting a cat. "You're going to be an excellent carrier," she tells John, enthusiasm and joy clear in her tone. "I can tell."

The praise makes John want to spread his legs further, so he does, unsurprised when something comes creeping by his entrance. Whatever it is - John's guessing a tentacle, though it could be a finger - rubs slow, hypnotic circles, slick and gentle.

John moves his head back, and the tentacle in his mouth withdraws. "You don't have to be so careful," he tells Grace.

It's Harold who answers, though. "Indulge us. We haven't always had the option to be kind."

John shrugs and nuzzles the tentacle next to his face until it's back in his mouth. He nurses on it, content, as finally he is breached by something just a bit wider than a finger. The thickness of it is perfect, actually, just the right size to stretch John out without being unpleasant, like it was calculated to fit him.

For a while, Harold is at his back and Grace at his front, and he thinks the tentacles penetrating him are hers; then there's another flash of not-movement and now Grace is holding him and Harold's eyes are on him, intent, and the tentacles in him move with a different rhythm.

They take turns with him, one of them taking him as the other holds and soothes him, passing him between them like a shared bucket of popcorn. The tentacles in John get thicker and thicker, until he looks down and sees himself stretched around one the girth of his wrist.

"Is this too much?" Grace asks, concerned.

John swallows. It is, but he needs it, craves something to settle the burn inside him. "I'm good."

She smiles at him and spreads his thighs with her hands, her tentacles holding him in place. "Here, this should help," she says, and another tentacle - small and slender - laps at the head of John's cock. John jerks a few times, opens his mouth to moan. The sound turns into a yelp when the tentacles probes his slit and quickly sinks in.

It doesn't hurt, it's just weird, even with everything else going on, a way John has never been touched before. "Oh God," John says, dazed.

Grace pulls it out again, making him twitch. He's relieved for a moment before he starts burning there, too. His hips pump up. "Please," he says. "Again?"

"Of course." It's Harold who answers him. Harold turns John around, keeping a hand on his face when Grace's tentacle rubs against his prostate. Then Harold pushes another small tentacle down John's cock, gently, expertly flicking him from the inside until John shudders.

When Harold takes the tentacle out of John's cock, it's followed by a thin, steady stream of come.

"That's good," Grace says behind him, approving. "We're going to have to make sure you're drained before we attempt implantation."

In the fog of John's mind, a question presents itself. "What were you doing up till now?"

Her laughter is lovely. John thought so before she injected him: now it's beautiful, crystalline music. "Oh, having fun," she says. "And acclimatizing you, of course."

Another thin tentacles wraps itself tightly around the base of John's balls. One of Harold's, he thinks. "He still has a substantial amount," Harold says. "We best get on with getting it out."

"Impatient?" Grace says. The affection in her voice makes John strain up like a cat arching into a petting hand, asking for attention.

Harold and Grace both lavish it on him.

He comes again soon after, semen teased out of him by Harold's tentacle inside his cock. His balls hurt, but that only adds to his ravenous desire for _more_.

"It's possible to stretch you here, too," Harold tells him as he gasps for breath. "Would you like that?"

John gives a tiny, dizzy nod. He's mesmerized by the thin tentacle emerging from his cock. Seeing another one approach, prod at his slit, almost makes him say no.

A wave of love and want for Harold and Grace washes over him. Of course he won't say no, not to anything they want to give him.

The sight of his cock stretched around the tentacles is obscene. More so when the tentacles pull apart - slow and gentle, but it still burns. More come pours out from between them, and when it's gone, John catches a pink glimpse of the inside of his own cock. He shakes and comes a little more.

Harold puts his fingertip near John's slit - opened so wide, now, that it's practically another orifice, almost wide enough to let Harold's finger in.

John keens and nods, continues keening as the tentacles slip out, leaving him gaping. He sobs when Harold pushes a finger inside his cock.

"There we go," Grace croons. "Almost ready."

John has half a mind to argue with her, say he's been ready for ages, but it's too good to sag in their hold and let them make all the decisions. His lack of protest is rewarded by hands, he can't tell whose anymore, gripping his hair and gently pulling.

Probably Grace's, since Harold is petting his sides now. "It might be a little unsettling at first," Harold says, "but we're right here for anything you need, and we'll stop if you're uncomfortable or in pain. Just say the word."

John's not all that sure he can form words right now, but he grunts in vague agreement and nods. He can probably make his protests known somehow if he has to. He's resourceful, he can improvise. 

He gasps softly when the first egg makes its way in, his eyes tearing up involuntarily. He turns his face away. 

"It's okay," Grace says. Harold echos her and adds, "We won't stop unless you tell us."

It's like being given permission opens up the floodgates. He sobs openly as the egg finds a secure place inside him, baffled at himself even as he makes broken noises. He hasn't cried under torture, and this doesn't even hurt. 

Soon he's lying in their hold feeling drained and quieted, their hands whispering over his skin, their tentacles depositing more eggs inside him. He feels odd, empty and full at the same time. His dick is soft, hanging between his legs, still wet from his earlier climaxes. 

As though noticing his train of thought, one of Harold's hands drops to John's cock, rubbing it. "Shall I?" Harold says, petting John's cock.

John nods, feeling residual tears roll out of his eyes.

Harold's hand on him feels good. Not the frantic rush towards orgasm that he's used to - he doesn't think he could come again, not so soon, but he likes the sensation. 

Just as well that Harold isn't properly jerking him off. Harold is instead rubbing John's cock between two fingers, like he's appreciating a piece of fabric.

Finally, John feels the tentacle inside him receding, slow and careful. John still spasms after it leaves him.

"Is this better?" Harold says, conciliatory, and slips a few fingers inside John. It's a meager replacement, but it does the trick. 

John curls up around his full belly, naked on the carpet, and closes his eyes. The eggs move and shift, a reminder that John is carrying new lives inside him.

He cries again, with no urgency, long and slow. Harold and Grace press close and murmur understanding in sounds John's mind can't fully comprehend. 

~~

He opens his eyes in a pristine bed, warm under the covers.

"We hope you'll stay," Grace says, and Harold adds, "We hope you'll let us care for you, until the younglings have manifested." They're lying beside him on the bed, sandwiching him between them. 

A few hours ago, that would've been unthinkable. He'd leave, then return to them for the birth. Now.... "How long?" From what John has seen, carrying young can take anything from a few hours to years.

"A couple of weeks," Grace says. "Nothing too strenuous, for the first time."

"For the first time," John repeats. The words feel odd on his tongue.

"Oh, I don't mean to be presumptuous," Grace says, blushing prettily. "Of course, if you wouldn't want to go through it again--"

"I'll want," John says.

Harold raises his eyebrows. "Perhaps you'll be in a better position to decide after the manifestation," he says.

John repeats, "I'll want."

Grace and Harold crowd around him, careful of his swollen belly, still muttering uncertainty. John doesn't care. He puts his hand over his stomach, feeling the subtle shifting inside it.


End file.
